by David Bishop
"Stand fast!" Dredd ordered. "Watch and wait. Let the scenario play out." He kept watching the scenes transmitted from inside the museum. Ryan was now leaving the Evil Empire exhibition space, his theft apparently unnoticed. "Show me Bludd's enforcer." The image on screen shifted to Kara and Dr Swanson. The two women were engrossed in a private conversation on the far side of the room, oblivious to what was happening. Bludd's voice got Kara's attention.
"If you've quite finished," the crime boss sneered. His lover blushed and moved away from the curator, returning to Bludd's side. He nodded to Dr Swanson. "Thank you for the tour. Most instructive." Bludd swept out of the room, Kara close behind him. The curator hurried after them, leaving the exhibition unattended. A moment later, a Judge emerged from the shadows and looked up at the closed circuit cameras.
"Well, Dredd, what do you want us to do now?"
"Maintain visual contact with Bludd but don't let him see you, Giant," Dredd replied before switching radio frequencies. "Control, where's Ryan?"
"Should be coming out of the Dustbuster... now."
Dredd glared across the skedway at the museum entrance. The juve was hurrying out into the sunshine, still clutching the notebook he had picked from Bludd's pocket. Ahead of him the crime boss's hoverpod was waiting for its owner to reappear. As Ryan approached a passenger door opened towards him. The juve stopped, startled. After looking around he entered the vehicle and the door closed behind him. Less than a minute later Bludd and Kara returned to the hoverpod, Dr Swanson still trailing behind them.
"Dredd to Control - give me audio on what Bludd is saying to the curator."
"Roj that. Switching to ultra-sonics."
"Thank you once again for the generous donation," Dr Swanson simpered. "Without your support the good work of the museum would not be possible."
Bludd smiled thinly at the obsequious woman. "Yes, yes. Well, it's time I was going." He thrust his hands into his pockets, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. Bludd looked at Kara. "Since you seem so enamoured of Dr Swanson, perhaps you would like to stay and talk with her further."
Bludd's executioner blushed and shook her head. The crime boss stepped into his hoverpod, Kara following after him. She shot a final smile at Dr Swanson before the door snapped shut behind her. The vehicle hurtled into the sky, leaving the curator waving a feeble goodbye.
"Dredd to Control, are we getting any signal from Ryan?"
"Negative. Bludd's hoverpod must be heavily shielded. Nothing leaks out from inside and ultra-sonics can't penetrate the vehicle's exterior."
Dredd watched the hoverpod disappear into the distance. "All units, stand down. Bludd has taken the bait. If Ryan survives the day, we may have a new operative on the inside."
Ryan perched nervously inside the luxurious vehicle, its seats upholstered with real leather. Opposite him Bludd sat glowering, the big man's eyes studying the juve's face. Kara sat with her legs apart, one of Bludd's hands stroking her right thigh. She appeared amused by the juve's presence.
Ryan cleared his throat nervously. "Your robo-chauffeur said you wanted to talk with me. So... here I am."
Bludd reached an open hand towards the juve. "First things first, give back the notebook you took inside the museum."
"Notebook?"
"Don't try my patience," Bludd replied bluntly. "Kara here knows more about inflicting pain than any person I've ever met - including myself. It gives her a sexual thrill to see others suffer. Right baby?"
Kara smiled, letting her lover's hand slide up and down her legs.
Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He produced the notebook and handed it back to Bludd. "I was hoping to get your credits, maybe something I could sell at the City Bottom black market."
"You know who I am, don't you?"
"Jesus Bludd, crime boss. Your companies are collectively known as the Bludd Group."
"I prefer to think of myself as a businessman, but I'll let that pass. You did a very professional job. Most citizens would not have noticed the loss."
"But you did," Ryan said.
"Yes." Bludd pursed his lips. "Kara tells me you were recently expelled from the Academy of Law."
"How did you-"
Bludd silenced the juve with a gesture. "The Justice Department is not the only organisation that employs those with psi abilities to achieve its goals. You know my reputation, yet you have the audacity to pick my pocket. Either you are very brave or very foolish. Which is it?"
Ryan grimaced. "A little of both, I guess."
"You have certain skills I might usefully employ. Would you be interested in joining my organisation?" Bludd shifted forward in his seat, leaning closer to the juve. A bead of sweat ran down Ryan's face but he held the big man's gaze.
"What's in it for me?"
"The rewards are considerable," Bludd said. "But I demand absolute loyalty. If I discover you are working for anyone else, you shall suffer the most painful of deaths imaginable. Do I make myself clear?"
Ryan nodded hurriedly.
"Good." Bludd smiled broadly. "Welcome to the Bludd Group."
ONE
"Good morning! I'm Enigma Smith and you're watching Mega-City News, the best and brightest place to see all the news worth knowing! Today's bulletins are brought to you by Supposi-Thrills[tm], the excitement you insert, and New Improved Grot Pot®, now available in Snot and Lemon flavour!"
Tri-D screens across the Big Meg flickered into life as the first light of dawn touched the city's skyscrapers. Media mogul Ruprecht Maxwell had cut a deal with Tri-D manufacturers to ensure every new set automatically switched itself on for the early morning headlines on Mega-City News, a show broadcast on one of Maxwell's many thousands of channels. Enraged consumer groups and citizens' action committees had protested this blatant breach of the city's communications bylaws to no avail.
As a result, Enigma Smith's face was the first thing many citizens saw in the morning, making her the most recognised and reviled person in the Big Meg. Once just a humble announcer on the audio-only version of Mega-City News, Smith was now a massive celebrity. But the constant stream of death threats and attempted assassinations had transformed her fame into a curse.
She maintained a grim smile and maniacally perky persona on the air in the face of such troubles, her appealing features framed by an elaborate bouffant of blonde hair. Smith's facial expression was the result of the "Non-Stop Grinning" clause in her contract rather than any wish to make bad news seem less bleak. A thousand orphans could be gunned down at a birthday party but Maxwell demanded such news be served up to citizens with a smile on the lips and a song in the heart.
"Now, here are your headlines," Smith continued. "Representatives of justice departments from around the globe are gathering in Mega-City One for a historic summit. Our own Chief Judge Hershey wants to negotiate a worldwide extradition treaty, so that no citi-state can be a hiding place for fugitives from the Law. Here's what the top cop had to say about the summit earlier today."
The Tri-D image switched to Hershey standing on the Grand Hall of Justice's steps, her determined face underlining the importance of her announcement. "For too long, dangerous perps and those suspected of committing crimes have been able to shelter behind arcane treaties and procedures. Some governments have been willing to look the other way, offering a safe haven to fugitives in return for a slice of the profits from illegal activities. We want to stop that and have invited delegates from key citi-states to meet here and thrash out a compromise." Hershey leaned forwards, jabbing a finger at those watching. "Let this be a warning to all who would break the Law. Soon there will be nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Count on it, creeps!"
The familiar voice of Enigma Smith could be heard from off-screen, asking the Chief Judge a question. "Is it true the criminal underworld has threatened to stop these talks by any means necessary? And if so, how does the Justice Department intend to ward off these attacks?"
Hershey smiled for the cameras. "I have personally appointed one
of our most dedicated and capable officers as head of security for the summit - Judge Dredd. He will greet the delegates as they arrive and ensure safety for the length of their stay. Spread the word; this treaty will happen. That is all!"
Smith reappeared on screen. "Mega-City News understands all the delegates should have settled in by noon today. Dredd has been meeting the representatives as they arrive, ushering them through the rigorous Customs and Immigration procedures."
"I say, this is most irregular!" Brit-Cit Judge Jago Warner was not impressed. He had arrived at midnight via the Black Atlantic Tunnel and spent the long hours since waiting to be allowed entry to the Big Meg. Forbidden to touch his luggage, he had been required to fill in an endless variety of forms and forced to stand in an interminable queue without access to toilet facilities, food or drink. The Brit-Cit delegate finally snapped, marched to the front of the queue and demanded to see Dredd.
"I understood he was to be here personally," Warner explained to the sour-faced Judge at the front of the line, "to ensure I would be ushered through Customs and Immigration on some sort of fast track."
"This is fast track," Giant replied.
"But I've been waiting for seven hours!" the Brit snapped, his blue hair quivering with suppressed rage. "What precisely is taking so long?"
"Safety procedures," a deep, resonant voice boomed from down the corridor. Warner turned to see another lawman approaching, the name DREDD emblazoned on his badge. "Extra precautions are necessary, due to the sensitive nature of this summit. I'm sure you understand." Dredd had reached the front of the queue and now loomed over Warner, a scowl warning the visiting Judge against pressing his complaints any further.
"Well, of course," Warner stammered. "If you believe such extreme measures are necessary then-"
"I do," Dredd growled. He pulled a small metal device from one of the pouches on his utility belt and used it to scan the Brit's body. A steady crackle flared into a high-pitched wail as it approached Warner's crotch. "I'm picking up a suspicious object in your u-fronts. You got something you want to tell me?"
The visiting Judge was affronted by the mere suggestion and said so. "Quite frankly, the contents of a man's u-fronts are his own affair!"
"Not on my watch," Dredd snarled back. "Drop 'em."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said drop 'em, or else I'll drop you." Dredd leaned into Warner's face. "You get what I'm saying, creep?"
"I really must protest! You can't honestly expect me to disrobe in front of all these people, can you?" Warner spluttered, indicating the long queue of weary travellers still waiting to be processed. "For goodness sake, man, I am a duly appointed representative of the-"
"Spare me the pompous protests, punk. Now strip, or else!" Dredd removed his daystick from its place on his utility belt and began thwacking the shaft against the leathereen palm of his left gauntlet.
"But I-"
"I said strip!" Dredd reached out a hand and tore the tunic away from Warner's torso, exposing pale, freckled skin and a flabby stomach. Another tug and the Brit was standing in just his u-fronts and boots, shaking hands clasped across his crotch. Dredd replaced his daystick and pulled on a pair of latex gloves from another pouch. "Now touch your toes!"
"Please, just a little privacy," Warner pleaded. "I'll be perfectly happy to-"
"I said touch your toes! And keep your legs apart!"
With a whimper Warner bent forward, struggling to reach his ankles. Dredd tore down the u-fronts and began a full cavity search. After finding nothing of interest he pointed at something dangling between Warner's legs. "What do you call that?"
"My willy, if you must know!" By now Warner was close to tears, his shame and humiliation almost complete. He straightened up and looked at Dredd, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.
"No, I mean that!" His face curled with disdain, Dredd pointed at a metal stud protruding through the visiting Judge's penis.
"Oh, that! It's a Prince Albert. Several centuries ago our ruler's consort popularised this kind of body piercing and it now bears his name. All senior Judges in Brit-Cit are required to have one if they are to gain promotion." Warner crossed his hands back over his crotch. "Are you satisfied now?"
Dredd nodded grudgingly before turning to Giant. "Alright, you can let the rest go through now." The Judge began waving the rest of the queue past his station while Warner dressed. The Brit watched in amazement as the others were ushered past within minutes.
"You mean you made us wait all that time for nothing?" he demanded.
Dredd almost smiled. "Heard you Brits were fond of forming a queue. Just thought we'd see how long it took you to demand action." He slapped a gauntlet-clad hand heartily against Warner's back. "Remember that when you go into the negotiating room. You've got to stand up for your rights, otherwise some of the other cities will try to walk all over you. Got that?"
Warner just glared at Dredd. "May I go now?"
"Be my guest."
The Brit-Cit delegate stamped away, muttering darkly to himself. Giant stood beside Dredd and the two men watched Warner depart. "Remind me never to apply for a transfer to Brit-Cit," Giant remarked. "I'm not sure their promotion prerequisites are what I'm after."
Dredd nodded his agreement. "Who's due in next?"
Giant consulted a palm unit. "Judge Ivan Smirnoff from East-Meg Two. Fond of a drink, apparently. Too fond. Grud only knows what state he'll be in."
Dredd grimaced. "Just so long as it doesn't involve examining penis piercings."
Ryan could not help admiring the view from inside the glasseen turbolift as it ascended the outside of Emil Jannings Block. From here you could see all the way to the Big Meg's East Wall and beyond to the Black Atlantic. The ocean might be a poisonous, polluted sludge of foul water but the rising sun could still render it beautiful. A handful of early morning skysurfers were already taking advantage of the warm air drifting in over the city, gracefully riding the updrafts and zephyrs. Ryan forgot his quiet terror for a few moments and appreciated the splendour spread out before him. But the turbolift needed only ten seconds to climb a hundred levels to the city block's penthouse. The vista vanished from view as the circular tube reached its destination. The former cadet swivelled round to the turbolift doors, mentally erecting the psychic barriers that had kept him alive these past four months. He would need them more than ever to survive this meeting.
The doors slid silently open and the gentle scent of sandalwood and cinnamon welcomed the new arrival. Ryan stepped into the lobby of the penthouse, his footfalls echoing round the marble walls and floor. Overhead was a stunning glasseen ceiling, the last stars still disappearing from the sky as day replaced night. Behind Ryan the turbolift doors glided shut and he could hear it drop away. He was alone and utterly defenceless, with just his wits, training and nerve to keep him alive. Ryan prayed they would be enough.
Ahead of him walls shimmered aside to reveal the penthouse interior: a vast open plan area filled with plush furnishings and an impressive collection of artwork, a selection of doors leading off the main chamber. Sculptures nestled among potted plants while paintings hung in mid-air, suspended by anti-grav mountings. One particular canvas caught the eye, a large image that seemed to depict an antique food container. Ryan wondered who Campbell was and why anyone would wish to immortalise his soup in a painting. The juve walked towards the picture, intrigued.
"It's a Warhol." The voice was rich and deep, unmistakably that of Jesus Bludd. The powerfully built figure emerged from a doorway, closing it gently behind himself. "I acquired it from a debtor, a private collector who gambled beyond her means. She was forced to liquidate her assets to repay those debts. There is a lesson in her plight; never gamble more than you can afford to lose, lest the consequences be too ruinous to contemplate."
Ryan smiled, uncertain of how to react to this homily. "Yes, Mr Bludd."
"You were admiring the view from the turbolift on your way up?"
The juve was st
artled by this remark, but chided himself for not realising Bludd would monitor all those who took the turbolift to this level. Ryan's employer had not become one of the Big Meg's most successful crime bosses without learning to be careful. "Yes, I was. You have a remarkably unobstructed view to the east, out over the Black Atlantic."
Bludd smiled. "It did not come cheap. Persuading building developers to keep their high rise projects elsewhere is an expensive luxury. Come, let me show you what I mean." He moved across the room with surprising speed and grace, drawing aside plush red curtains to reveal glasseen doors leading out on to a balcony. "Open," Bludd commanded and the doors slid aside.
Ryan followed his employer on to the balcony. Underfoot was a carpet of fine white sand, curved patterns raked into its surface. Two supple young trees grew out of the sand and white stones surrounded the base of each trunk. A pathway of pale slates led to the edge of the balcony, a metallic balustrade the only apparent barrier to stop the unwary tumbling over. Bludd waited until the juve had joined him at the edge before speaking.
"This is my Zen garden. Whenever I am troubled or uncertain, I come out here and rake the sand, finding meanings in the patterns created. I find it a very calming place, away from the cut-throat nature of daily life in this city."
Ryan asked how the sand remained undisturbed, bringing a smile to Bludd's lips. "A sensible question, one that some lack the wit or imagination to ask." Bludd reached a hand out over the balustrade. Blue light sparkled about his fingers, crackling with unseen energy. "A simple force field protects my solitude here, screening out any unwanted intrusion, keeping my business private. Too many would like to know what I am saying or thinking. That is why Kara always stays so close to my side." Bludd snapped his fingers and the force field disappeared, now just the metal barrier at waist height keeping both men from the sheer drop beyond the balcony. "How long have you been in my employ now Ryan?"